Everybody Comes to Sandrine's
by Laura W
Summary: "I leave nothing unnamed." This is very old, and very non-canon. Hopefully it's still fun. J/C. Enjoy.


**EVERYBODY COMES TO SANDRINE'S**

* * *

_June 1995 _

_Written just a few days after "Arithmetic Lessons" was completed, it actually takes place about five years _before _its predecessor. You need not have read "Arithmetic Lessons" to enjoy this one, but it might help. This story combines all the things I used to think were great about _Voyager_: humor, pool, magic, and romance. Oh, and a few shameless references to _Casablanca.

**EVERYBODY COMES TO SANDRINE'S  
by ****Laura Williams**

They were doing it again.

Tom Paris heard the whispers start up behind him on the Bridge. Without having to turn around he could visualize them: Janeway, turned 180 degrees in her chair, gazing into her First Officer's tanned face; and Chakotay himself, leaned far to the right in _his_ chair, practically doubled over in his attempt to close the distance between himself and his Captain. Sometimes they spent the whole last hour of the watch that way, exchanging quiet whispers, heads bent close together, while the rest of the Bridge personnel went about their daily business and pretended not to notice. And they were doing it again.

Tom idly wondered what they were talking about. Sometimes, if he really concentrated, he could pick up snatches of their conversations -- canine anecdotes, bits of Indian wisdom, B'Elanna's latest improvements to the engine design. He couldn't tell what they were talking about today, but he could always ask Harry later. From his position at Ops, Harry was in a much better place to eavesdrop on the little end-of-watch conversations -- behind the Command chairs where he could read lips even if he couldn't hear. Then again, Harry could be annoyingly closemouthed about the whispers exchanged between Captain and First Officer on boring afternoons. Being married to B'Elanna for six months had loosened Harry up considerably -- Tom reflected that being married to B'Elanna would probably loosen any man up, especially after the spine was snapped -- but he was still obsessed with protocol. Likely he wouldn't talk.

Of course, Tuvok had the best view of the Commander and Captain, paired with exceptional hearing, but he was even less liable to share the topics of today's little tete-a-tete. He probably wasn't even listening. Vulcan propriety and all.

So, as usual, Tom was left to his own devices, straining his ears to pick up even a word or two and keeping one eye on the chronometer, waiting for the moment when he could grab Harry, head for Sandrine's, and start in on an all-night binge. Only a few minutes to go in this unbelievably dull day, the fourth in a row. He'd already decided that if they didn't come across something -- a hostile planet, a dangerous nebula, even a nice little space/time anomaly -- to break the monotony soon, he was going to throw himself out the nearest airlock without an environmental suit. It would put him out of his misery, and would at least give the gang down in Stellar Cartography something interesting to look at for a change.

He was fully immersed in this thought, the image of himself floating past the Bridge, the Briefing Room, the galley, waving cheerfully and smiling as he went by, when he heard the First Officer laugh behind him. He resisted the urge to glance back at them. He could see Chakotay's face in his mind, eyes wide and probably a little glassy, smiling foolishly at the Captain. Tom had been watching him for two years now -- they'd all been watching him for two years now -- agreeing with virtually every decision Janeway had ever made, staring at her hair during briefings, gulping slightly whenever she touched him, which she did often. It was plainly obvious, at least to Tom, that Chakotay's feelings for his Captain went well beyond the normal respect and courtesy afforded one officer to another. More than once Tom had had to fight off the impulse to take Chakotay aside and try to knock some sense into that big square skull of his. "Chakotay," he could hear himself saying, "if you don't make a play for her soon, someone else is going to beat you to it. You two belong together. If you don't tell her you how you feel, you're going to regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life."

Tom shook his head and decided he'd been spending way too much time with Jenny Delaney and her film noir collection.

And anyway, the situation was more suited to a good old French farce, maybe something by Feydeau. Chakotay's and Janeway's quarters were adjacent, there would be plenty of opportunity for door slamming and mad chases down the hall... And maybe for comedic purposes someone could cut an opening in the wall that separated the rooms, affording many further complications...

Better yet, Klingon opera. Chakotay with long flowing hair and a feral expression, beating his chest and fiercely bellowing about his unrequited love for the Captain, and Janeway screeching back at him about duty and protocol, sprawled at his feet...in body armor...

"Mister Paris?"

Tom jumped at the sound of his name. He turned and found his relief officer standing at his elbow, ready to take over the station. Right on time. Five minutes early, in fact. Tom hopped to his feet and slapped the man on the shoulder. "Thanks, Hargrove," he said, and bounded up to the Ops position, where Harry patiently waited for his relief crewman.

"How 'bout it, Harry?" Tom asked, sidling up to the younger man. "A round of pool at Sandrine's?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Tom. B'Elanna and I have plans."

Tom recoiled slightly. "Oh, Harry, it's only been six months and already you're starting to sound like an old married man. Just one round of pool. You, me, Chakotay, some fine French wine, some fine French women..."

"Chakotay doesn't drink, and I'm married now."

"Break the shackles, Harry. Boys' night out. How long has it been since you've just sat around with the guys and traded war stories, huh? B'Elanna must have you on a pretty short leash."

Harry turned to face him. "What's the matter, Tom? You and Jenny fighting again?"

Tom saw the annoyance in Harry's eyes and backed off. "Hey now, no need to get nasty, I know when I'm beat. What's eating you, anyway?"

Harry paused for a second. He opened his mouth to speak but at that moment the lift doors opened and B'Elanna walked onto the Bridge. Harry shook his head at Tom. "Later," he said, and met B'Elanna near the lift. Tom shrugged and moved to leave with Janeway and Chakotay, who were still engaged in animated conversation, when Harry and B'Elanna stepped in front of them.

"Captain, B'Elanna and I would like to talk to you, if you have a minute," Harry said.

Janeway glanced from one to the other and back. "If this is ship's business, then by all means."

B'Elanna shifted her feet nervously. "No, Captain. It's personal. But we'd still like to talk to you." She glanced over Janeway's shoulder. "Commander Chakotay too, if possible."

Tom watched Janeway consider, then nod once, a quick dip of her chin. "All right." She ushered them into her Ready Room, Chakotay following close behind her -- closer than was required by Command protocol, Tom thought, supressing a smile.

The door slid closed after them. Tom rocked back on his heels, once, twice, face twisted in concentration, trying to guess what kind of personal matter his two friends would want to discuss with the Captain and First Officer on such a boring afternoon. He manufactured a job for himself at a deserted console and sat down to wait.

Twenty minutes later, while he was drumming on the console with his fingers and toying with Klingon lyrical conventions in his head, the door opened again. B'Elanna and Harry emerged first, walking very close to each other but not touching. Chakotay emerged a second later, looking grim. The Captain did not emerge. Tom hopped from his chair and walked after the trio, a loud, "Thanks for your help with that program, Hargrove," springing from his lips. He gave the startled Hargrove a wink and a nod and entered the lift with his three fellow officers.

They rode in silence for several decks, B'Elanna and Harry standing even closer together, but still not touching, Chakotay propped up with one hand against the lift wall, Tom rocking slowly on his heels, back and forth, watching them. No one spoke.

The lift slowed to a halt and Chakotay started to exit, but B'Elanna caught him by the sleeve. "We want to thank you for your help, Chakotay."

Chakotay paused, holding the lift doors with one hand. He glanced at Tom, who displayed his best innocent and charming smile, then looked back at B'Elanna and Harry. "I just want you both to know," he said, "that you have all my support. I will do everything I can to see that your request is granted as quickly as possible. But I'll warn you -- this may not be easy."

Harry held out his hand to Chakotay. "Thank you, Commander."

Chakotay glanced back at the still-smiling Tom, frowned slightly, then disappeared down the corridor as the lift doors closed.

Tom suppressed the urge to whistle.

At the next deck, B'Elanna and Harry exited together, hand-in-hand, silently. The doors closed again.

"Well, well, well," Tom muttered to the empty lift. "Looks like something is going on around here after all." He chuckled to himself. "I wonder how long it'll take me to find out what it is."

He was seated in his usual chair at Sandrine's before it occurred to him that he would probably be drinking alone tonight. Again.

Harry rolled over on his back and let out a long breath. After two hours of coaxing, cajoling, and even pleading, he'd finally managed to get B'Elanna to relax and come to bed. Now she was up already, stalking through the room, after only half an hour of repose. Harry sighed again. That was fifteen minutes longer than he'd expected. It wasn't enough.

And so now she paced the room, or prowled it, actually, three quick steps to the left, three quick steps to the right, punctuated occasionally by a low growl. Harry didn't interfere. He'd been married to her long enough to know there was very little he could do when she got this way, frustrated over a situation that couldn't be helped, hurried, or fought, so instead he just let her pace. At least she had grown out of the punching, kicking, scratching stage she'd been in when he'd met her two years previously. In fact, when he'd met her they had been in a situation very like this one -- at the mercy of someone else's decisions. And they had each reacted in much the same ways, B'Elanna raging and releasing her anger in a very physical manner, and Harry lying back and trusting that things would work out as they should. And they had. And he had pointed it out to her. More than once.

But for now, however, he was content to lie back and listen to her pace. One, two, three, turn; one, two -- growl -- three, turn; one. Stomp, stomp. Harry sat up fractionally. "I can't believe," she hissed, "that you're just _lying_ there."

Harry propped himself on one elbow and pushed up the sleeping mask he still habitually wore. "What?"

B'Elanna bared her teeth at him, and Harry shuddered, recalling with exhilaration, and not a little fear, the feel of those teeth fastened onto his flesh. "They're up there making the most important decision of our life, and you're just _lying_ there!"

"There's very little we can do about it, B'Elanna."

"That's what bothers me!" She turned and started pacing again. "This should be _our_ decision, not theirs. We should be the ones staying up all night trying to decide if it's the right thing to do."

"We already did that," he pointed out.

"But that should have been it! Once we knew what we wanted, we should have been able to just go do it."

"It's not that simple, B'Elanna," Harry said, trying to reason with her, though he knew from experience that he probably wouldn't get anywhere. "The Captain has a lot of other things to take into consideration. This isn't a big starship. There may not be enough room. And out here, life can get dangerous. It might not be a good idea to have a baby, even if it is what we both want."

"If we weren't out here in the middle of nowhere, no one else would have made the decision for us," she said angrily.

"You're right," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "If we weren't out here in the middle of nowhere, no one would have made the decision at all, because we never would have met. Is that what you want?"

B'Elanna stopped pacing with her back to him. "No."

Harry rose to his feet and went to her, gingerly placed his hands on her shoulders. "Look, I know you hate being out of control like this. So do I. But right now it's out of our hands. Chakotay said he'd do everything he could -- Chakotay really cares about you. He wouldn't let you down if he could help it, would he?"

B'Elanna shook her head slowly.

"So right now our best option is to just wait, let them make their decision, and hope it works out for the best." She relaxed slightly under his hands. "So come back to bed? Please?" He led her to the bed and she finally rested beside him.

For exactly seven minutes. Then she was up again, pacing. Waiting was not one of B'Elanna's strengths. Harry sighed.

B'Elanna made a small, strangled sound of frustration. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I don't think I can sleep, and now I'm keeping you up. I'll go to the Engine Room and try to get some work done."

Harry ripped off his mask, bolted from their bed, and hastily yanked on his clothes. He'd heard what B'Elanna could do to hapless engineering personnel on sleepless nights, and hoped to spare anyone that particular trauma. "That's all right," he said. "I can't sleep either. You stay here and pace."

She looked at him in surprise. "Where will you go?"

"I'll go shoot pool with Tom or something." He headed for the door, paused for a second, contemplated kissing her, and decided it would probably be hazardous to his health at this moment. "I'll be back in a little while," he said, and stepped out into the corridor, leaving B'Elanna behind, already pacing again. One, two, three, growl...

Ah, Sandrine's.

Tom Paris leaned back on the bar and heaved a little sigh of contentment. Sandrine's, stone walls and wood paneling, a smoky room with a bar and a pool table, a little piece of home far away from home. Though home, Tom reflected, was never like this. At least not exactly. Sandrine's was a far cry from the Federation Penal Colony in New Zealand, which was the last place he'd been able to call home. In prison he would never have found himself running the table against Gaunt Gary and Minnesota Fats, tossing back drinks with Fitzgerald and Hemingway, or enjoying the company of women like Ricki and Sandrine. No, home was never like this, and so Tom thanked his lucky stars that home was also thousands of lightyears away. He downed the rest of his drink, kissed Ricki hard on the mouth, and picked up a pool cue. Ah, Sandrine's.

He was lining up a particularly difficult shot, showing off for the women, when the wood and glass doors opened and Harry walked in looking overworked, underrested and thoroughly disheveled. Tom quickly checked the younger man's neck and upper chest, revealed by his civilian tunic, for bite marks. None visible. Tom wondered if that might be part of the problem.

"Harry," he said cordially. "This is a surprise. What happened to your big plans with B'Elanna?"

Harry leaned heavily on the bar. "We finished that hours ago."

"Oh yeah? No basking in the afterglow this evening?"

Harry's jaw clenched tight. "I'm really not in the mood, Tom."

Tom tossed his friend a pool cue. "Fine. Round of eight ball?"

Harry hesitated for a second, then joined Tom at the table.

The two men played in silence for half an hour, Harry methodically sinking shot after shot while Tom looked on with interest. Something was clearly on Harry's mind. He only played this well when preoccupied with a problem, freeing his body to pursue the game with abandon. Tom toyed with the idea of asking outright what the problem was. A variety of approaches was available to him. He could ask gently, show compassion in the best father-confessor manner, likely eliciting a long and heartfelt response from Harry. He could ask jokingly, leaving Harry the option of not answering or answering in kind if he didn't want to talk about it. He could ask with the genuine concern of one friend for another and probably get a brutally honest response. Then again, if he just waited long enough without saying anything at all...

"All right, Tom!" Harry exclaimed suddenly. "Are you going ask me or not?"

Oh, Tommy, you are a natural.

"Ask you what, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "About what you saw in the lift this afternoon. I'm sure you're just dying to know what that was all about. So go ahead and ask me."

Tom, all innocence, opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but Harry cut him off. "I'll tell you," he said, setting aside the pool cue. "B'Elanna and I want to have a baby."

Tom was genuinely taken aback for a second, then he broke into a wide grin. "That's great, Harry!" he said, coming around the table to shake the other man's hand. "I had no idea you were even thinking about it."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, we've been talking about it for a while. We decided last night, and this afternoon we talked to the Captain and Commander Chakotay."

"What have they got to do with it?"

"This isn't a big ship. There might not be enough resources, especially if other people want to have children, too. And it would take up a lot of the Doctor's time."

"Why's that?"

Harry looked away for a second. "Well, our different genetic makeup won't let us conceive in the, uh, usual manner."

"Ah." Tom smiled at his friend's discomfort. "So what did Janeway and Chakotay say?"

"They were surprised."

"I'll bet."

Harry shook his head slightly. "Chakotay was really excited. You should have seen him -- he hugged B'Elanna so hard I thought she would suffocate. Then he practically crushed my hand and told me how proud he was of us..."

"But then?" Tom prompted.

"But then the Captain got that look on her face -- you know the one." Tom did indeed. "'Commander,' she said, 'don't you think this celebration is a bit premature?'" Harry shook his head. "I thought Chakotay would explode, right there in the Ready Room."

"So now what?"

Harry crossed to a deserted table with a cup of tea. "Now, we wait. They said they'd give us an answer tomorrow."

"So they're deciding now? In the middle of the night?"

Harry nodded. "They said they'd have to go over some statistics first." He shrugged fractionally. "They're in her quarters right now, deciding my future."

"And B'Elanna's."

"Yeah." Harry pushed away his tea and rose to his feet. "I should go talk to her, shouldn't I?"

"Probably so." The younger man nodded and headed for the door. "Harry? I wouldn't worry about it. Chakotay can be a pretty persuasive guy."

Harry smiled. "Particularly with Captain Janeway, right?"

"Yeah. What I wouldn't give to listen in on that conversation..."

Harry cocked his head to one side. "Do you think they know we know what's going on between them?"

Tom smirked. "I don't even think _they_ know what's going on. But I hope they figure it out soon."

"They will. I think we all should just give them some time to work it out on their own."

"Probably right." Tom crossed to the bar and retrieved his half-empty bottle. "Get out of here, Harry. Go talk to your wife and leave this confirmed old bachelor in peace, willya?"

Harry smiled. "Thanks for listening, Tom. Good night"

"See you at duty call."

Tom leaned back on the bar. So Janeway and Chakotay were putting in one of their infamous all-nighters. These decision-making sessions had become legendary -- almost as legendary as their end-of-watch chats. They usually started out with some disagreement over a matter of policy, lasted through dinner in the galley and long into the night in Janeway's quarters, and ended with one or the other of them late for duty call the next morning. But this disagreement was different, somehow. Not Starfleet policy, exactly, but something unique to their situation so far away from the Alpha Quadrant.

Families. Tom had seen Chakotay with children before on the alien worlds they'd visited. They simply gravitated toward him; something in his easy grace and quirky humor naturally drew them to his side. And he enjoyed every minute of it. Chakotay, Tom suspected, had probably always looked forward to being a parent. He imagined the two of them discussing it, Janeway with skepticism, Chakotay with animation, his heart displayed prominently on his sleeve. Tom smiled.

Ricki, behind the bar, let out a loud sigh. "Tommy," she whined, "when are we gonna get _out_ of here?"

"Not quite yet. Something tells me we'll have another visitor tonight."

"But why, Tommy? Why would anyone come here in the middle of the night?"

"Because, sweetheart, this is Sandrine's. And sooner or later," Tom grinned, "everybody comes to Sandrine's."

Ricki rolled her eyes and poured herself another drink.

The place was a mess.

Janeway surveyed it with critical eyes. Every horizontal surface in her room was covered with a pile of debris accumulated over the last three hours -- data padds, reports and computer chips, her empty coffee cups, his discarded fruit rinds. She sighed. Two years ago, she would never have allowed her quarters to fall into this state of disarray. Two years ago she would have deposited every coffee cup into the refuse slot as soon as its contents were drained, would have insisted that her guest do the same with his fruit rinds. But two years in the middle of nowhere had taught her that here, in the privacy of her own rooms, she could afford to let down a little -- had to, in fact, to maintain her sanity. She glanced at the man beside her on the couch, scanning a data padd and absently munching on a handful of sharp-smelling seeds. Two years, and this man, who had casually ushered disarray into her life.

Not that there was anything inherently messy about Chakotay. He nearly always reported for duty early, uniform crisp, boots shiny, chin freshly scraped. She could not recall ever having seen his quarters in anything less than a state of efficient tidiness. Even his habits of mind were neat, owing to a calm centeredness that permeated everything he did and said. But there was just something, some undefinable quality that put her off balance, put her so deep in thought that sometimes when he left her quarters after a late dinner she couldn't even bother to pick up after herself before turning in for the night.

Even now, even out of uniform, unshaven, late at night after hours of disagreeing with her, he'd done it to her again, made her think long and hard about a decision that should have been easy. Staring at his profile, she made a small sound of exasperation.

He looked up. "What?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

He shrugged, then looked back at the padd before him.

Janeway shifted uncomforbably on the couch. Wordlessly, Chakotay reached behind him and handed her one of the pillows he had stuffed behind his head hours before. She took it without looking up and lodged it comfortably in support of her lower back.

They went back to their perusal of the statistics. Three hours and the numbers had begun to swim before her eyes, run together in her mind. She recognized these as signs of fatigue and asked the replicator for another cup of coffee.

Chakotay frowned at her. "How much coffee have you had tonight?"

"How many of those damn seeds have you had?" she snapped, retrieving her coffee. She swallowed half the serving in one gulp, steeling herself to give no indication of the scalding it gave her on the way down. Off-balance. There was just something...

Another hour of technical manuals, interior design grids and food production statistics and she had had enough, even though she dreaded the confrontation to come. She sank back on the couch and rubbed her eyes. "I don't know," she said. "The numbers look good, but this ship simply wasn't designed for raising children."

Chakotay looked up in surprise. "It wasn't designed for growing food or converting dilithium either, but we've managed to make it work."

"That's not the point."

"Then what _is_ the point?"

She leaned forward for a better view of his face. "The point is that we're talking about children. They need more space than we have, schools, homes. Do you really want to bring new lives into the universe all these light-years from the Alpha Quadrant?"

He nodded vigorously, surprising her. "Yes! For two years we've been asking the crew to think of this ship as home. Obviously they do -- would they want to have children here if they _didn't_think of the _Voyager_ as their home?"

"But if we let them start families out here, they may give up hope of ever getting back to the Alpha Quadrant."

Chakotay's face showed disbelief. "It's been two years, Captain. Yes, we may eventually make it to the Alpha Quadrant, but who can say how many more years it will be before we get there? You can't ask these people to put their lives on hold indefinitely."

She waved one hand in a gesture of dismissal. "That's not what I'm asking."

"Yes it is." He rose swiftly and stalked to the door of her quarters, but something made him turn back, his face intent, his voice full of barely restrained anger. "I don't know about you, but I _want_ a family. I don't care whether it happens here or in the Alpha Quadrant or on some planet somewhere in between. But I want it. Now, unless we find some other method of propulsion, I'm going to be almost a hundred and ten years old by the time we get home. You're a scientist. You do the math." And with that he turned on his heel and left.

Janeway sat for a long moment, lost in disbelief. A dozen angry responses came into her mind -- _Who do you think you are? How _dare _you speak to me that way! You have no right to make these demands..._

Damn. He _did_ have the right, he was acting well within his duties as First Officer. And in that capacity he'd done it to her again, shaken her certainty that she knew beyond all doubt what was best for the crew.

Children. On her ship. She'd heard horror stories about the havoc children could wreak on a starship -- wandering into dangerous or off-limits areas, damaging equipment, distracting the crew. And out here they couldn't afford to lose equipment or become any more distracted than they already were.

Numbers or no numbers, regardless of Chakotay's pleas, it simply was not practical to have children on the _Voyager_. She would tell Chakotay at breakfast, and they could break it to Harry and B'Elanna later in the morning, maybe give them the day off if they took it especially hard. She gave herself a little nod of approval.

Satisfied with her decision, she rose and began to tidy the room. Data padds back to her desk, coffee cups and fruit rinds -- Good Lord, does the man _ever _stop eating? -- in the refuse slot, boots and discarded uniform back to the closet. The argument with Chakotay had left her edgy, as their arguments always did, and so she called up Tuvok's weekly report and settled back on the couch to read until the edginess passed.

Her eyes scanned the padd without taking in a word of the information presented there. Children on the _Voyager_. What a preposterous idea. They would get into things, constantly be underfoot, leave their toys lying everywhere...

Something was wrong with the couch. Janeway reached behind her and pulled the source of the discomfort from between the soft cushions. A small bag of sharp-smelling seeds.

She stared at it for a long time.

_I don't know about you, but I _want _a family..._

So Chakotay wanted to be a father. She wondered idly who he had in mind as the mother of those unborn children. He wasn't one to flaunt his liaisons, but she'd seen him once or twice with that Delaney person, not Jenny, the other one -- what _was_ her name? Well, that was fine. It wasn't as if he were in her position, where she had to maintain a careful distance between herself and her crew. Let him have a nice relationship, someone to talk to in the middle of all this nothing, let him go on with his life. Just as long as they didn't try to have any children.

She popped a seed into her mouth and chewed it experimentally. Not bad -- sort of nutty. Probably spectacular covered with chocolate, she mused. She turned back to the padd, still chewing.

_I _want _a family._

He probably would have been a good father, respectful and kind, fiercely protective. Probably a lot like Mark would have been, in fact, had they ever had children. She sighed softly, wistfully, hoping that Mark had gone on with his life too, had somehow managed to have those children he'd always wanted. She'd denied him for the sake of the ship and her career. She had hated to do it, but he understood and accepted the sacrifice.

Chakotay would just have to accept it too. He'd have to realize that the ship must come first, the safety of the crew and the completion of the journey must stay uppermost in everyone's thoughts if they were to get home at all.

Abruptly an image of Mark came into her mind, Mark struggling with Bear and her puppies, walking hand-in-hand with some shadowy female figure, holding a baby in his arms. She hoped he had gone on with his life, yes, but if he had, what did she have to go home to? Surely in another few years the people she left behind would have finished mourning her and moved on -- the people they had _all_ left behind would have moved on. If they stayed out here in the middle of nowhere much longer, what did any of them have to go home to? The connections were already stretched to the limit -- surely they would reach the breaking point soon. And once that point was passed, what then? How would she keep them focused on the journey once they knew they would be going home to total strangers?

And in the meantime, what would hold them together?

_I _want _a family..._

Suddenly, inexplicably, Janeway burst into tears. She sank down on the couch, her face hidden in her hands, even though no one was there to see. She was appalled at her own cruelty, her own blindness -- her complete selfishness. She could deny herself the connections she craved and justify it with her rank and position. But she could not in good conscience deny anyone else.

An hour later she looked up and found that Chakotay's forgotten bag of seeds had dropped from her limp fingers, its contents spilled all over the floor. She did not know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.

Tom glanced again at the wall clock.

Two hours since Harry had departed, and still no sign of either of them. Tom watched the doors and nursed his drink. The funny thing was, the longer he sat and waited, the more he became convinced that sooner or later one of them was bound to show up. Usually they came together, fashionably late, after the first round of drinks had been consumed and all bets had been placed on the identity of her first chosen victim and the severity of her ensuing victory. That was on the good nights.

On the bad nights, one or the other of them, usually Janeway, came alone. She'd sit at a corner table with her back to them and fume over her drink for half an hour or so, then dispassionately run the table against them all and depart for her quarters, often without a single word of goodnight. Those were the bad nights -- the nights when Janeway and Chakotay were fighting.

On those nights the ship just didn't feel right. Even crewmembers working or playing on the lower decks walked softly on the bad nights, afraid of upsetting the already precarious balance. Tom had felt it an hour before when he'd slipped out to the galley for a stack of peanut butter sandwiches. The feel of the ship was all wrong -- the corridors were too empty, the galley too quiet except for one shrill peal of laughter cutting across the hush. Even worse that the laughter hadn't come from Chakotay or Janeway.

And so Tom had quickly returned to Sandrine's to wait, seated alone with his sandwiches and a deck of cards. He'd long since tired of Ricki's constant whining and had turned her off -- wonderful creatures, holographic women -- and replaced the annoying accordion music with a tinny piano and a crooner in a dark alcove of the bar. More atmospheric somehow.

Tom shuffled the cards with a loud snap and set them out for another game of Double Jack. He wondered if they were still in Janeway's quarters discussing B'Elanna and Harry's request, or if Chakotay had finally had enough and left. It had happened a few times, Chakotay had become so angered by one of Janeway's decisions that he'd walked out on her, Starfleet protocol be damned. On those occasions he could usually be found later on the lower decks beating his body to a pulp -- running laps around the cargo bay until he dropped from exhaustion, climbing through the Jeffries tubes with a 50-kilo pack strapped to his back, practicing martial arts with Tuvok and letting himself be thrown around like a rag doll -- beating himself into submission while Janeway skewered the rest of them with a pool cue. The intensity of their individual diversions was proportional to the severity of their arguments. It was an unusual Command relationship, and Tom and the others had learned from bitter experience not to interfere with it.

Tom flipped over the last of the cards and realized he was beaten again. Sad when a man can't even win at solitaire, he mused. He stuffed the last bite of peanut butter sandwich into his mouth and gathered the cards for another round just as the doors burst open.

Tom almost choked on his sandwich. Chakotay stood framed in the doorway, his face dark, his big hands slowly clenching and unclenching. Tom stood up. "Uh, Commander. Game of pool?"

Chakotay took three long steps into the room without even looking at Tom and picked up a pool cue. He held it clutched in both fists, staring at it with hooded eyes, as if he were considering breaking it in two with his bare hands. Or perhaps wrapping it around someone's neck. Tom gulped involuntarily. He'd threatened to do it before.

Tom started to rack the balls, but Chakotay tossed the pool cue aside. He leaned with both hands pressed flat on the table, his eyes fixed on the green felt surface. Tom took a step toward him. "Commander?"

Chakotay shook his head once, eyes still lowered. He spoke without looking up. "You got this thing programmed for a decent bar fight?"

"Uh, yeah, we could do that. If that's what you want."

"That's what I want."

"Sure thing, Commander. Weapons or no weapons?"

"No weapons."

"Right." Tom quickly voiced a series of commands, then glanced at Chakotay. "Ready?"

Chakotay nodded.

"Computer, execute Holodeck program Paris 9A."

Abruptly Sandrine's exploded with life -- Nausicaans, Humans, even a couple of Kazon that Tom had recently added to the program. They all closed in on Chakotay and Tom. One of the Humans tapped Chakotay on the shoulder. "What did you call me?" he asked dangerously.

Without even bothering to reply, Chakotay lowered his shoulder into the man's chest and sent him flying through the glass doors.

Tom whistled softly to himself. Must have been some argument.

Chakotay dispatched the next attacker, a Nausicaan, with a roundhouse punch. The Nausicaan toppled over with a groan and did not move.

A second Human went for Tom, but Chakotay intercepted him too, picked him up bodily and tossed him over the bar.

"Uh, Commander?"

"You stay out of this, Paris," Chakotay growled. "This is my fight."

Tom made a mental note to never make Chakotay as mad as the Captain apparently had.

For the next ten minutes Tom simply observed while Chakotay tore the bar apart. The First Officer was a blur of action, combining quickness and strength, intelligence and sheer muscle. He went at them with a mixture of Starfleet training and Maquis experience, easily flooring each attacker with grim efficiency. They never even laid a finger on him.

Tom just sat back and watched.

Finally they were all taken care of, lying around the bar in moaning heaps, except for that first Human Chakotay had sent flying. Like a fool, or a man programmed to be a fool, he'd come back for another round. Chakotay cornered him and grabbed him by the shirt, twisting one hand into the loose material. He bared his teeth, almost sneering at the man between heaving breaths, and drew back his clenched fist.

Tom winced, anticipating the sickening crunch.

But Chakotay stopped. Tom watched his face change, the sneer replaced by a look of disbelief as he stared into his attacker's eyes. Chakotay pushed the man away roughly. "No," he whispered. "This isn't right." He sank heavily into a chair -- the only one not smashed in the fight -- and rubbed his forehead.

"Commander?"

Chakotay pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and gasped.

Tom stepped hastily to his side. "Chakotay? Are you hurt?"

"No. I just need to..." Chakotay looked up and his eyes traveled over the spectacle, the mess he'd made. "I've got to get out of here."

"If there's anything I can do -- "

"Leave me the hell alone, Paris," Chakotay snarled. He bolted from the room.

Tom let him go. He looked around the bar, marveling at the destruction Chakotay had caused. Suddenly he didn't feel like playing solitaire anymore.

"Computer, end program," he called, and the mess was instantly swept away, replaced by the familiar Holodeck grid. Tom left the room and went to look for Jenny Delaney, trying to ignore the empty feeling in the corridors.

Chakotay staggered through the ship, disregarding the worried glances his torn shirt, his bruised and bloodied hands, his anguished face, brought on. Anger was not an emotion foreign to him; he'd spent most of his life angry at someone, first his family for disapproving of his career choice, then Starfleet for forcing him into their uncomfortable mold, later the Cardassians, the Federation, his tribe, any convenient target. Over the years he'd learned to control it, and channelling his anger into aggressive action had been one of his trademarks in the Maquis. When pushed far enough, Chakotay could be counted upon to lash out hard and effectively, but never blindly. He always had a plan in mind, never letting his own intensity overcome him.

Alone in the turbolift, he stared down at his hands. For the first time in years, he'd let it overcome him. His hands bore the marks of that loss of control, vicious red splotches already darkening to bruises, cuts along his knuckles where the skin had split open on impact. He even thought he'd cracked a bone in his right thumb. He locked his hands behind his back, hiding them from his own eyes.

For a few minutes it had actually felt good to lose control, to give in to his emotions and simply be angry, never mind why. He had enjoyed the feel of objects, even holographic ones, smashing to pieces under his hands. There was something intoxicating about giving in to rage. But in the instant he had looked into that man's eyes, the instant before he slammed his fist into that face, he had remembered why he was angry. She had done it, had made him so violently angry that he'd actually wanted to hurt other people. The shame of that realization had snapped him instantly back to his senses and left him weak with anguish, shocked at his own brutality. She was the Captain, she had the sole right to make the decision. His only responsibility was to carry it out and learn to live by it.

So why was he taking it so personally?

The lift doors parted and he stepped out onto the deck. Another door opened near him and he panicked, thinking it might be her -- and though he knew he owed her an apology, he could not face her, not yet. He started to bolt back into the lift but saw that it was only Tuvok, paused in the doorway to his own quarters.

Chakotay tried to smile casually. "Tuvok. You're up late. Anything wrong?"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I might ask the same of you, Commander."

Chakotay shrugged one shoulder, winced slightly as a twinge of pain ran down his arm. "Just came from the Holodeck."

"Are you injured?"

"No. I was just...blowing off a little steam. Maybe I overdid it."

Tuvok stepped fully into the corridor. "Perhaps you should go to Sickbay."

"I'm sure it's nothing. It'll be fine by morning."

"It _is_ morning, Commander."

"Right." Chakotay took the few steps to his door, feeling Tuvok's eyes still on him. He turned back. "Is there anything else, Lieutentant?"

Tuvok frowned. "Are you quite well, Commander?"

Chakotay took a deep breath, uncomfortable with Tuvok's attention. He let the breath out slowly, finding a rueful smile somewhere. "Just tired, Tuvok. Very, very tired. But thanks for asking."

Tuvok cast a quick glance at the door to Janeway's quarters, his face unreadable, then looked back at him and nodded slightly. "Very well. Good night, Commander."

"Good night, Tuvok."

Chakotay stepped into his quarters and keyed the lock behind him. Slumped against the wall, exhausted, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust, then moved through the rooms in the dark, pulling off his torn shirt and tossing it in the closet, kicking his boots in after it. He crossed to the sink and washed his injured hands, then splashed cold water on his face and neck, letting it drip down his chest. Running his wet hands through his hair, he stared at himself in the mirror for a long time, seeing the fatigue and shame written on his face.

He turned away from the reflection, unable to meet his own eyes.

He flung himself down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. An image of Harry hovered before him, his face full of earnestness, his voice hesitant and very young: "Captain, Commander, B'Elanna and I would like to ask your permission to...have a child."

They had all frozen for a moment, B'Elanna's hand gripped tightly in Harry's, Janeway's eyes wide with surprise and shock, Chakotay's heart suddenly racing. Before he fully realized what he was doing he'd lifted B'Elanna bodily from her chair and squeezed her tight, reached for Harry's hand and shaken it with vigor, all the while babbling words of congratulation and pride.

And then Janeway's voice, slicing into the moment, causing his back to stiffen and his hand to clench tight over Harry's -- "Commander, don't you think this celebration is a bit premature?"

Chakotay drew his arm over his eyes, shutting out the dim starlight. He'd always assumed that when the time came, Janeway would see the significance of the milestone they had reached and support her crew's wish to start families aboard the _Voyager_. Never once had he considered that she would refuse to grant the request. That refusal had surprised him more than he could have anticipated. They had achieved something special aboard the _Voyager_, a community whose strength and cohesiveness left him awed -- left her awed, too, or so he had thought. But it was a community without growth, without joy.

Without children.

Chakotay rolled over onto his belly, pillowing his weary head on his folded arms. No children. No one to pass their gifts to, no one to carry their stories back to the Alpha Quadrant, no one to help learn and grow and ease the burden of time. They _needed_ children on _Voyager_. How could she not understand that?

Or had he completely misread her?

Had their two brief years together convinced him of too much -- convinced him that her thoughts mirrored his, that she shared his feelings about the importance of establishing a community and starting a family when in fact she did not? The thought left him inexplicably empty.

And why was he so angry? Because she had disagreed with him? Because she didn't see the world the way he did? Because she had refused his request?

Chakotay rolled over and sat up in one swift, almost uncontrolled motion. It wasn't his request, it was Harry and B'Elanna's. Wasn't it? She had refused _them_, not him. He was not the one who had asked to start a family...

His own words suddenly came back to him -- _I don't know about you, but I want a family._ But he _did_ know about her, didn't he? Didn't she want it, too? He had thought so, had spent two years nursing the hope that someday she would finally see him there beside her and tell him she wanted the same things he did. Two years trying to get close to her.

Two years being firmly pushed away.

He fell back on his bed, shaken by the realization that he had been wrong all along. She didn't want the same things after all, didn't need the comfort of a family around her to make the passing time bearable, didn't need _him_, except as a first officer and perhaps as a friend.

Chakotay drew in a long, shuddering breath, noticing for the first time in a long time how very empty and quiet his quarters were in the middle of the night. He needed to talk to someone, anyone. Usually he would have sought out Janeway, but in this case that was clearly out of the question. Knowing he could not go to her now, perhaps not ever again, left him even more disturbed and upset.

He had all but given up the prospect of sleep for the night when suddenly the door buzzer sounded. He rolled over on his side, wondering angrily who would disturb him at this hour, resolving to ignore the summons. The buzzer sounded again, and directly after it his communicator beeped, allowing a disembodied voice to enter his room.

"Janeway to Chakotay. I know you're in there, Commander."

Chakotay froze.

"Look," her voice said, "I owe you an apology, but if you don't open this door in ten seconds," Chakotay dove for the release button, "I might change my mind. So open the damn -- "

"Captain?"

" -- door. Thank you." She stepped forward, just far enough into the room to let the door slide closed behind her.

For a few seconds they simply stared at each other in the darkened room. She was out of uniform, the first time he'd seen her out of uniform in a long while, dressed in something loose and dark with bright threads woven into the fabric that picked up the brightness of her eyes. Her hands were clasped behind her back and her hair was down, held loosely together by a fastener at the nape of her neck. Chakotay caught his breath, feeling his anger begin to evaporate. Then he glanced down at himself and gasped a little in embarassment.

"Sorry, Captain, let me just -- " He started to retrieve the shirt from the closet, remembered it was torn, she would notice that and want to know what had happened, there must be a uniform around somewhere --

"Commander?" He turned back, feeling like an utter fool. "It's quite all right, I don't plan to stay long." She glanced around the darkened room. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I...was just resting."

She frowned at him, her concern showing clearly behind the Captain's mask. "Are you all right, Commander?"

He shrugged, forced himself not to tell her just how miserable he felt, then took a good look at her face in the darkness -- bloodshot eyes, drawn mouth, red and puffy nose. "Captain? Are _you_all right?"

She turned away from him. "I couldn't sleep." She took a second to compose herself, then looked up at him intently. "Commander, I just wanted to tell you that you were right about Harry and B'Elanna."

Chakotay's heart raced. "You mean you're going to allow it?"

She nodded. "I can't deny these people the lives they want just because we're stuck out here in the Delta Quadrant. If we were in the Alpha Quadrant and they wanted to have children, there would be a way to do it. We have to find a way here, too."

Chakotay stood caught between conflicting emotions -- despair and hope, misery and passionate, unreasoning joy. He clenched his hands into tight fists to keep from crushing her in an embrace very like the one he had inflicted on B'Elanna. "Thank you, Captain," he said finally. "You won't regret this."

She smiled at him. "If I do, I may hold you personally responsible."

"My pleasure. But what made you change your mind?"

She cocked her head to one side. "You planted the seeds, Commander." She brought out a package from behind her back and handed it to him. "Just see that you don't leave them in my quarters from now on, all right?"

He took the bag of seeds with a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

He assumed she would leave then, but she still gazed up at him with a small smile. "Can I ask you a question, off the record?"

"Of course."

"Why were you fighting so hard for children who haven't even been born yet?"

He closed his eyes, then met her gaze. "One of them might be mine."

An odd expression crossed her face, wistful and melancholy, and then was gone. "I'm sure you'll be a fine parent, Commander."

He shook his head. "Maybe. Someday."

"Someday soon, I bet."

He looked away from her. "I don't think so."

Her fingers brushed his hand and he shuddered involuntarily. "Commander? What is it?"

He tried to smile for her. "Nothing. I'm glad you changed your mind, Captain. Having children here will help us all to think of _Voyager_ as our home."

She nodded. "I agree. Thank you for pointing that out to me. The crew will be much more content here now, I think."

He took a deep breath. "What about you?"

"Me?"

He nodded. "This is your home too, Captain.

She looked away. "It's different for me."

"Is it? Your life has to go on too."

She shook her head. "My primary goal is to get us back to the Alpha Quadrant. That has to be my comfort." She took a step toward the door. "Good night, Commander. I'll see you in a few hours." The sadness in her voice stirred something deep inside him.

He did not want her to leave.

"Wait," he said.

She paused and turned back to him. He shuffled his feet, suddenly nervous. "I just wanted to ask you... Are you really planning to spend our entire journey without ever letting anyone get close to you?"

Her face showed puzzlement. "I have friends -- "

"That's not what I mean." He took a shaky step toward her. "For two years you've been holding yourself back, trying to make us believe you don't need to be connected to anyone. But you can't do this alone, Captain. You can't go on like this forever. Someday you're going to need someone there."

She turned to go. "It's very late, Commander, and you're obviously very tired. This is hardly the time -- "

He stepped around her. "Listen to me," he pleaded. "I'm tired of you fighting me off whenever I try to get close to you. I'm not going to let you go back to your quarters and think about your home and family in the Alpha Quadrant. We are _all_ family now. And home -- home is _here_now, the people who care about you are _here_. The people you need are here." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "_I'm_ here. Why do you keep pushing me away?"

She shook her head lightly, frowning. "I don't push you away, Commander. I consider you a close friend. But our positions on this ship require a certain protocol, and -- "

"No. Stop hiding behind your rank and give me an honest answer. If the circumstances were different, if there were no ranks and responsibilities in the way, if you could make the choice, would you come to me freely? Just because you wanted to?"

She closed her eyes, still turned away from him, but the longing and aching vulnerability in her face confirmed what he had suspected for months. Feeling a sudden rush of hope, for himself and for her, he stepped deliberately in front of her. "Then do it," he said. "Make the choice."

She looked up at him. "I can't," she whispered, her voice unsteady.

"Yes, you can. Because I can." He reached out and placed a hand on either side of her face, not touching, just hovering there where he could feel the warmth of her skin. He stood very still, imagining he held her entire being between his two battered hands. He took a deep, shuddering breath and prepared to speak the ancient words, words he had feared he would never have the courage to say to her.

"Here," he murmured, "here am I, a poor one. I turn this good woman, daughter of the ancients, to me; to my eyes, to my head, to my hands, to my arms, to my chest, to my heart. I leave nothing unnamed."

Her lips trembled. "Is that a prayer?"

He did not move. "A spell. To turn a woman's heart."

"A spell? Do you cast this spell on all your women, Commander?"

"No. It is a very powerful spell, and may be used only once in a man's lifetime."

Her smug smile faded. "Then...only me?"

"Only you."

He closed his hands on her face then, and bent toward her. He breathed a word, soundlessly, a single puff of air in the shape of her name, the instant before his lips touched her forehead.

She felt as though she had been indelibly marked, that if she walked out in the corridor everyone would see it there on her forehead. But it wasn't a mark of possession he had placed on her, it was her own name, her own self, given back to her after such a long time, written with his breath and sealed with his lips.

He whispered her name again and his breath on her face scattered the last of her resistance. She stepped forward into his fierce embrace, finally giving in to the need to be close to someone, to hold on to something real and solid and not let go.

They clung to each other for a long time, silently, afraid to break the moment with speech. Then Kathryn found her voice and whispered to him just as his chest hummed with the same words, and their voices together made it more than a statement -- it was a confession, a vow, a prayer. He repeated her name over and over again, then, as if making up for each time in the past when he'd wanted to say it but couldn't, and she wept at the sound of it, knowing that not all of the tears on her face were her own.

Tom leaned his forehead against the door and sighed.

"Come _on_, Jenny," he called. "Just let me in and we'll talk."

"I'm not letting you in, so you may as well go away."

"But why not? Why won't you let me in? Even just to talk?"

There was a small silence on the other side of the door, then her voice again over the intercom. "Because I know you, Tom Paris, and if I let you in here I know we won't just talk."

Tom glanced nervously up and down the hallway. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened last night. Let me make it up to you."

"No! Go _away_!"

"But, Jenny, I -- "

"Is there a problem, Mister Paris?"

The deep voice behind him caused him to whirl suddenly. "Uh, no, Tuvok. Just visiting a friend."

The Vulcan lifted an incredulous eyebrow at him. "Really. It would seem that your...'friend' would like you to leave."

Her voice returned on the intercom. "Throw him in the Brig, Tuvok!"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Look, if you'll just let me handle this, I -- "

"Perhaps you should return to your quarters, Mister Paris."

"But I -- "

"Your quarters, Mister Paris?"

Tom gritted his teeth and followed Tuvok down the corridor.

A few meters later, the Vulcan paused abruptly. Tom looked up; they had stopped in front of Chakotay's corridors, Tuvok's head inclined fractionally as if he were listening very carefully. "Tuvok?"

The Vulcan shook his head.

Tom did not like the look on Tuvok's face, dark and puzzled. He took a step toward the door, suddenly concerned. "Chakotay was pretty shaken up earlier. Do you think we should check on him?"

Tuvok glanced up quickly, his face once again calm and composed. "No," he said slowly and distinctly, "I do not. But you, Mister Paris, should return to your quarters. You are due to report to the Bridge in less than five hours, and require rest."

Tom sighed. "You're right. I just hope tomorrow is better than tonight has been."

"Perhaps it will be."

"Good night, Tuvok. See you in the morning."

"Good night, Mister Paris."

Tom started off toward his own room. He glanced back at Tuvok, still in front of Chakotay's quarters, staring straight ahead as if he were standing guard. Tom watched him for a long moment, wondering what could possibly be going on behind that door that Tuvok found so absorbing. Probably fighting again, he thought, Janeway had probably gone to Chakotay's quarters after he'd returned from tearing Sandrine's apart to argue with him some more. She probably still had that cold, hard look on her face, too. Tom shook his head and moved on down the corridor slowly.

Harry drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. B'Elanna had miraculously fallen asleep, but Harry's mind still whirled with possibilities. He'd advised her to just sit tight and wait, it was the best course of action for them both, but somehow he simply couldn't heed his own words, not with so much time to kill.

So much hanging on one person. And even though he admired her and trusted her implicitly, deep down he feared that the Captain would never understand the reasons behind the request they had made. He sighed and leaned his head against his knees.

B'Elanna stirred beside him. She touched his arm lightly. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry did not look up. "What if she refuses to grant our request?" he said softly. "What if she says 'no'?"

B'Elanna turned and sat beside him. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe we could find a planet to stay on somewhere."

He looked up at her. "But don't you want to start a family here, with all our friends around us?"

"Yes, but..." She lowered her eyes, as if looking inward. "I just have this feeling, Harry, that everything is going to be all right."

"You do?"

She nodded. "Two hours ago I didn't, but now..." She looked up at him and smiled. "Something has happened."

He rolled his eyes at her, but found a small smile somehwere. "Now you sound like Kes."

"Maybe." She burrowed into his arms. "But the Captain is going to say 'yes.' I can feel it."

"Kathryn?"

She hid her smile and wondered if she would ever grow accustomed to hearing him speak her name in that soft, sleepy voice. She held very still, hoping he would say it again.

"Kathryn?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"Are you awake?"

"Hmmmmmm. No."

"Oh. I thought you were."

"No." She rolled over against him. Her hair spread lazily across his chest, mostly by accident. "You're hallucinating. I'm not only not awake, I'm not even here at all. You only think I am."

"Oh. If you're not here, then where are you?"

"Hmmmmm... I'm watching the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico."

"Sounds nice."

"It is. It's very cool, and there are sea gulls on the beach, and the wind smells like the ocean."

One of his hands stroked slowly down her back and up again, tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. "Are you alone there?"

"No."

"Someone else is there with you?"

"Yes."

"Can I guess who it might be?"

"Can you?"

A smile warmed his voice. "I think I can. It's Neelix, isn't it?"

She laughed and nipped at his chest. "No, it isn't Neelix."

"Are you sure? He's not there handing out Mai-Tais and towels?"

"No."

"Tuvok, then. Walking on the beach and trying to keep the sand off his boots?"

She slid her arms around his waist, pausing to stir his navel with her nails. "Not Tuvok either."

"Hmmmmm. I thought sure it was Tuvok."

"No. Guess again."

He lifted his arms above his head and stretched. "It must be B'Elanna, right?" He chuckled softly. "Stomping around and wondering when we're going to get back to the ship."

"No, not B'Elanna." She slithered one leg across both of his and wriggled against his side. "Keep trying."

"Let's see. Kes and the Doc distributing sunscreen and telling everyone to drink more fluids."

"Wrong again." She stroked his belly lightly, fascinated by the twitching of his flesh under her fingertips.

He sucked in a sharp breath. "You're making this very hard, you know."

"Am I?" She leaned forward and nibbled at his neck. "But I'm not here, remember?"

"Right, I forgot. You're on the beach with...with Tom and the Delaney sisters. Under a big beach umbrella."

"No. One last guess." She seized his earlobe with her teeth.

"Harry," he whimpered. "It must be Harry, and he -- ahhhhh..."

"He what?" She plunged her tongue deep into his ear.

"He won't take his shirt off in front of you!"

"No. You've failed the test, Commander." She whispered deliberately, blowing her breath into his damp ear.

"Test?" he gasped. "What test?"

"You didn't know this was a test?"

"No. What happens now?"

She pushed herself up and moved over him until she straddled his hips, burrowing her toes beneath his thighs. "What do you think?"

"You're going to tell me?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm going to give you one extra guess."

"That's very generous." He reached up to grasp her shoulders, then lowered his hands lightly along her sides until they rested on her slender hips. "Is it me, by any chance?"

She smiled and nodded once. "It might be."

"What am I doing there?"

"You're out swimming in the Gulf."

"But I thought you said it was cool."

"It is. But I'm waiting on the beach with a towel. When you come out of the water, I'm going to help you dry off. Then I'm going to warm you up."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm going to start with your eyes." She leaned forward and kissed each of his eyelids closed. "And then your head." She ran her fingers through his short hair, again enjoying its thick softness, then moved lower, letting her fingers act out her words. "Then your hands, then your arms, then your chest, then your heart." She pressed her ear flat against him and listened to the whisper of his blood, the gentle thrum of his pulse.

He lay still and silent for a long moment, then his arms slid around her and pressed her close. She lifted her head and looked down into his eyes, very bright and full. "Chakotay?"

His breath caught in his throat. "Why did you come here tonight?" he asked. "You didn't need to tell me about Harry and B'Elanna now. You could have waited until morning."

She shook her head slowly, feeling tears come to her own eyes. "No, I couldn't," she whispered.

He pushed his hands through her hair and pulled her mouth to his.

They drifted together easily this time, not explosively, as they had in the previous hour. Kathryn let her hands travel over him, over hard muscles smoothed with age, then fastened her arms around his neck, not knowing where she ended and he began, not caring anymore. She shivered at his touch, wondering how she had lived for two years without it, suddenly realizing how she had ached for it all along. He moaned softly and locked his arms around her, trembling, and she held him tightly against it, whispering his name.

She was not aware of floating away from him; hair and sweat and tangled sheets conspired to hold them together even after their bodies had gone soft and limp. She sighed.

"What?" he whispered.

She smiled against his skin. "'I leave nothing unnamed.'"

Tom Paris dashed onto the Bridge ten minutes after duty call, hoping no one would notice his tardiness.

It had been a long night.

He knew that was no excuse, of course, but there was really more to it than just too much carousing in Sandrine's. It was the ship that made him late. When he'd walked through the sad corridors at 0230 hours he could never have expected how jolly the place would be at 0730. And so he'd lingered over breakfast longer than usual, just listening to the people talk and laugh in the galley, he'd strolled leisurely through the corridors smiling and chatting with everyone. It was a happy ship, an unbelievably happy ship, and he was at a loss to explain the sudden dramatic change in mood. And that was why he was late. But how to explain that to Janeway or, even worse, to Chakotay?

And so he burst onto the Bridge as if shot from a cannon, hoping no one would notice.

He slowed considerably when he realized the Bridge was virtually empty. Tuvok was there, of course, but there was no sign of Harry, Janeway or Chakotay. Just a few relief personnel milling around. Tom crossed to his station. "Where is everybody?" he asked.

"Mister Kim and Ms. Torres are in the Captain's Ready Room," Tuvok replied with precision, "as are Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. And you, Mister Paris, are late."

"Uh, sorry..."

"I assume you have an excuse?"

"Not one you'd understand," Tom muttered.

"I beg your pardon?"

Tom turned to look at Tuvok. "No, sir. My apologies, sir. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't."

Tom turned back to his station, glancing from time to time at the Ready Room door. Without having to ask, he knew what they were talking about in there -- children. And judging from Chakotay's mood last night, the news was likely to be bad. Tom shook his head. They'd have had great kids, Harry and B'Elanna, smart, fierce, strong. And if the Captain had refused their request, then it was a safe bet there would never be _any_ children aboard the _Voyager_, a thought that left him more distressed than he could have imagined. They would all grow old and die in the Delta Quadrant with no one to take their places, no one to return home and tell the families they left behind that they had had good lives, had at least found a little happiness out there.

Abrupty his jolly mood evaporated.

Tom glanced at the Ready Room again, trying to avoid Tuvok's steady gaze. He wondered, not for the first time, how Tuvok could just stand there and look interested when absolutely nothing was going on. Some Vulcan trick, probably. Maybe he was reciting haiku to himself. Or the Vulcan equivalent, if there was one, something complex and logical and very, very dry...

Presently the Ready Room doors whooshed open and B'Elanna and Harry emerged. But instead of the despairing looks he had expected, Tom saw joy in their faces. Harry gave Tom a thumbs-up sign before he crossed to his station, and B'Elanna grinned at him. Tom let out a little whoop of surprise and elation. Tuvok winced.

Tom glanced back into the Ready Room, intending to nod his thanks to his commanding officers as they emerged. But neither of them took notice of him, or moved to leave the room. They watched their young officers depart, then turned to each other tentatively. Chakotay reached out and stroked her cheek with one brown hand; Janeway smiled and closed her eyes at his touch, moving slowly into his arms as the doors slid together.

Tom's mouth fell open with shock. He stared back at Tuvok, who looked at him with infinite distaste.

"Something wrong, Mister Paris?"

"The Captain and Commander Chakotay -- "

"Will no doubt return to the Bridge momentarily. Until then, I suggest you look to your station."

Tom's mouth snapped closed. He felt the color rising in his face, but then he saw a tiny, almost nonexistent smile soften Tuvok's features. Tom returned the smile. "Yes, sir, Mister Tuvok," he called out over his shoulder. "Gonna be a good day, don't you think?"

"Indubitably, Mister Paris. A very good day."

Tom chuckled to himself. So that was why the ship felt so good. The beginning of a beautiful relationship.

He glanced at the chronometer, already counting the minutes until the end of the shift. He couldn't wait to listen in on today's little end-of-watch chat.


End file.
